Not Now
by el spirito
Summary: Where is Sam when Dean needs him? Mild language, hurt! Dean I don't own either of them... Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!
1. Chapter 1

He gasped for a second, clutched his hand over the gaping hole in his side, fought the rising nausea, finally slid to the ground in defeat. _Not now, not now..._His mind was feverish, one phrase repeating over and over. _Not now, not now._ Not now, when he didn't know where Sam was, not when he wasn't even sure where _he_ was. What the hell had happened? It had been a hunt, of course, a hunt gone wrong...wait, that was wrong. He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear the fog and confusion from his sluggish thoughts, only succeeding in making the dizziness increase enough to cause him to vomit. He groaned as the retching pulled at his wounded side, as sticky, warm blood continued seeping over his fingers. What was he doing? Oh, yeah. Heading back to the broken-down motel room they'd been calling home for the last three days. Trying to get back. Wait, Sam wasn't with him, how could he think of just leaving him behind, how could he even consider going back alone? He instinctively pressed harder against the blood leaking down his side, even as he berated himself and winced and gritted his teeth with the pain. What was he doing?

He heard, distantly, shouting, and with a sudden flash of clarity remembered how he had come to be lying in a puddle of his own blood. He'd gone to a bar, not to hustle as usual, but to get himself good and sloshed. He frowned as he struggled to remember why he'd wanted to get drunk...oh well, didn't really matter now, did it? Not now, when he was getting dizzy and sleepy and trying to plug a hole put in him by some pissed off, inebriated overprotective boyfriend with huge arms and a huge knife. The memory suddenly brought relief as he realized that at least Sam was okay...where was he, anyway? Oh. Back at the motel room. That's why he was going there, to get to Sammy. That made sense to his confused mind, and suddenly getting to Sam was the most important thing he could do. With a pained grunt and a monumental effort, he pulled himself off the ground, clutched his streaming side, dragged his broken and bleeding body towards the motel. Towards his brother. He felt bad, knew that Sam would freak, would panic at the sight of the blood, but for once, he needed help and couldn't think of any way to hide it from his brother.

It was dark and hard to see much of anything, but he could see the neon sign proclaiming 'Vacancy! Inquire inside' flickering a little ways off, so he knew he was close, knew he could make it if he just kept moving...when had he stopped moving anyway? Taking slow, agonizing steps, he realized that he was on the road now, crossing Main Street -ha! 'Main Street' and not a car in sight- to get to that ugly pink vacancy sign. It barely registered when he stepped off the road, not until he nearly tripped on a clump of grass, stumbled back onto the road which he suddenly realized was actually the parking lot of his motel. He was there, just a few more steps...He cursed as he realized that he'd forgotten what room they were in, then spotted his beloved Impala parked off to one side alone, directly in front of a peeling white door with the number 22 nearly falling off. He was suddenly glad he was the there because he realized that the blood hadn't ever stopped coating his fingers and the dizziness and nausea he'd worked so hard to keep at bay were back in full force. He didn't have much time left before he passed out, he could feel it, but Sammy would help him. With the last bit of strength remaining to him, he knocked on the door twice, mostly just raising his arm and letting it fall against the already battered wood, no force behind it at all. No answer, _damn his heavy sleeping,_ and it was all Dean could do to dig his hand into his pocket for the key to the room. With trembling and slippery fingers, he managed to get the key into the door, shoved it open, stumbled into the darkness.

"Sammy?" he croaked, but then he realized that the room was empty, that there was a note sitting on the table next to the bed, remembered that he'd gotten drunk because Sam had gone to hunt with Ruby, _how could he?, _and with a strangled cry, Dean Winchester's eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed onto the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam felt terrible. The tension between he and Dean had been building for days, and coupled with an exhausting hunt, the night had not gone well. Sam rubbed at his eyes, recalling the night's events. A simple salt and burn had ended up taking longer than expected and though not seriously hurt, both brothers had ended up bruised and sore. They'd gotten back to their room, exhaustion apparent as they dropped onto their beds. Dean had rubbed a tired hand across his face, pinched at his nose as he sighed. Watching him, Sam felt the same way- they had acted like nothing had changed, tried to laugh off what had been said, but their communication had been off, the ability to act as if they read one another's minds gone.

Finally, Dean had spoken. "There have been some sketchy disappearances in eastern Washington. Seven people so far, just vanished from one small town." His words hung expectantly in the air, waiting for Sam's acknowledgement that they were valid, but nothing had happened. Sam had reamined silent, known that Dean wouldn't like what he had to say-but he had to say it. He'd taken a deep breath.

"Actually Dean, I've got somewhere else to go," he'd said, trying to keep his guilt from showing as Dean's face dropped for a second, quickly replaced by a look of smouldering fury.

"You've got somewhere to go?" He'd spat, not even making an attempt to keep the rage from his voice. "With _her_?" Sam had felt his jaw tighten, had drawn up to his full height. He knew it wasn't what Dean wanted to hear, but he shoved the guilt to the back of his mind. He would _not_ back down.

"Yeah, Dean, with her. Okay? With Ruby. I'm going on a hunt with Ruby. Happy?" He'd been riling him up, knew what he was doing, but the anger bubbling in his veins could not be contained. Dean had looked at him furiously, and Sam knew his brother well enough to detect the signs of his anger-the tightened jaw, the clenching fists, the teeth clamped tight enough to make his jaw ache.

"Happy? How the hell would that make me happy?" Dean had roared, and though Sam had seen his brother pissed off before…this took the cake. "And what am I s'posed to do, huh Sam? You know I don't trust her!" The way he'd pronounced _her_, ground it out between his teeth, low and guttural, had stung Sam like a slap. Because it said more than 'her.' It said 'you.' Dean didn't trust him. The anger Sam had been semi-containing erupted in a sudden slew of words he couldn't stop.

"Nobody said anything about _you_ Dean! It isn't all about _you!_ _I'm_ going on a hunt with Ruby, you can stay here, go on a vacation, I don't give a damn! Do whatever the hell you want, okay?" Dean's face had crumbled, but Sam wasn't done.

"You know why, Dean? Because I'm not freaking chained to you. It's been nearly five years, Dean. Maybe it's time to split up." As soon as they left his mouth he'd regretted them, but he'd too pissed, too proud to apologize. Dean hadn't even said anything, had refused to meet Sam's eyes, had walked out the door and slammed it behind him. Sam had watched him go, his own anger barely settling down as he stood there, alone in a decrepit motel room that smelled of stale cigarette smoke and despair. He'd packed his things, about to leave, when he knew that he couldn't just leave. Not without a note. Sitting at the small nightstand, he carefully wrote out his note, promised that he'd be back after a few days, told Dean to take it easy. But he couldn't bring himself to write out the words he wanted to say most. Couldn't apologize to his only brother, who he had just broken with a few words. He'd gotten into the car with Ruby, hadn't even asked where she'd gotten it -probably stolen anyway- had driven away without a backward glance. Well, that wasn't true. He'd glanced back at least twice, hoping to see his brother waving at him, shouting at him to stop, but he knew that wouldn't happen.

Now, as he sat in the passenger seat of the car, he knew he'd made a mistake. Because it _was_ all about Dean. Dean had given his life for Sam, had given up a normal childhood, had protected him, had been there for him, had yelled at him when he'd needed it, had even hugged him when he needed him…And he was leaving him.

"Stop the car." Ruby stared at him.

"What?"

"I said stop this car. I'm not doing this."

"Sam-"

"Let me out !" Ruby stopped the car.

"We've been driving for fifteen minutes," she said. "I drive fast."

"I know."

"It's a long walk back, Sam."

"I know."

He yanked open his door, pulled his duffle out and slung it over his shoulder, tucked his gun into his waistband. He slammed the door behind him and started walking back, grateful for the moonlight that would light his way home. And finally, he allowed himself to think the words he'd been holding back.

_I'm sorry Dean. _He walked faster.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had lost track of time. He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, but it felt like ages, his feet had begun to ache, and he'd shifted his duffle too many times to remember. He cursed again as his fourth call to Dean went directly to his boring voicemail message.

_This is Dean. Leave a message._ Sam sighed. He probably wouldn't have picked up either, considering. Then again…Sam found it strange that he was actually _hoping_ Dean didn't want to talk to him, because that was better than Dean not being able to answer him. He continued walking, trying not to think about the last thing he'd said to his brother, but he quickly discovered how difficult it was to focus on anything else. Thinking about what he'd say to Dean when he got back was just as painful, and Sam pretty much felt like crap the whole way. Finally, a song popped unbidden into his mind, one that he absolutely hated but that Dean rather enjoyed.

_Risin' up, back on the street, did my time, took my chances…._ He felt stupid, walking down an isolated road in the middle of the night, singing Survivor, but it was a song that brought back good memories, memories of days when Dean would do everything in his power to annoy Sam- the spoon in his mouth, really?- belting the song loudly and terribly, arms drumming furiously.

_It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight, risin' up to the challenge of a rival…_ Sam let out a whoop of joy and relief when he realized that he was walking into the town on Main Street, buildings lit up in the distance. He actually managed to jog in the rest of the way, duffle bouncing irritatingly on his back. As he walked into the town, he realized that the bar was actually on his way to the motel, so he figured it might be better to stop by there. Especially if Dean was as hammered as he suspected he would be.

Entering the bar, Sam blinked at the sudden brightness of the lights, squinted for a moment before his eyes adjusted. The first thing he noticed once he could actually see was that there weren't very many people in the bar, a few playing pool in one corner, a couple of card games, and a few people drinking at the bar. Definitely a distinct lack of Dean. Suddenly, Sam felt a spike of panic as he realized that he'd only assumed Dean had gone to the bar. But where else could he have gone? Sam knew he hadn't taken the Impala, had left on foot, so where the hell was he? He felt a strong sense of foreboding overwhelm him as he approached the bartender.

"Hey, did a man come in here, about this tall, short hair, green eyes?" Sam asked, motioning Dean's height and build with his hands. The man thought a moment.

"Yeah, came in here, but he's gone already." Sam nodded in relief. Dean was back at the room. Of course he was back at the room. He turned to leave, but the bartender said something else that made Sam stop in his tracks. "He left after he got in that fight." With a small groan, Sam turned around.

"A fight? Was he okay?" The man thought a moment and nodded.

"Should be fine. He'll probably have a hell of a black eye in the morning, but he seemed to give out as much as he took." Sam looked at him, shifting his jaw in thought.

"Where's the man he fought with?" He asked, almost not wanting to know the answer. Something felt wrong with this.

"He took off just after your brother left." Sam's blood ran cold.

"Just after he left? Didn't that seem a bit off to you?" He demanded. The man shrugged.

"Your brother took the back door," he said, nodding to the door behind them. "The other guy left out the front. Figured they both had to go lick their wounds a bit." Sam was already walking quickly to the back of the tavern as the man finished speaking, dread sitting heavily in his gut as he pushed the door open. Nothing to indicate that anything had happened, so Sam started walking, slowly, towards the motel. Then he saw it. A thin trickle of blood. _Damn it._ He looked around, praying he wouldn't find anything, then saw it. A Bowie knife, about 5 inches long, covered to the hilt in blood. It wasn't Dean's knife. Sam started running. It was probably just a minor injury, through the arm or shoulder, there was no way Dean was in too much trouble, he hadn't been gone _that_ long…Sam stopped at a huge puddle of blood. _Damn! _The blood trail after it was thicker and heavier, and Sam ran full out, fear coursing through his veins. He got to the motel, wrenched the door open, shouted Dean's name. He stopped for a second in utter disbelief when he saw the still figure on the floor.

"No, no, no," he muttered, quickly kneeling at Dean's side. He was kneeling in blood, _holy crap, Dean's blood_, and then he was tentatively feeling for a pulse. It was there, rapid and thready, weakly tapping against Sam's suddenly shaking fingers. His breathing, though shallow and too fast, was existent.

"Holy crap, Dean," Sam murmured, gently easing Dean onto his back. There was blood everywhere, and it took Sam a second to pinpoint the source, just below the ribcage on his left side. There was so much blood…Sam ran to the bathroom and returned with a towel, pressed it heavily onto Dean's side as he tucked his brother's head into his lap. His worry increased when Dean didn't react to the pressure, and Sam instinctively pressed harder. His hand shook as he dialed 911, told the operator where he was, and hung up. How long had Dean been there, lying in a pool of his own blood? He was pale and still, and Sam wanted to scream with frustration. Instead, he kept pressure on his brother's abdomen and started talking.

"Hey Dean, what the hell did you get yourself into this time? I mean, I leave you for a few hours…" Sam's voice trailed off, and he swallowed before he started up again. "You got that stupid Survivor song stuck in my head. It's been going over and over for hours. And you _know_ how much I hate that song." Sam took a deep breath, reached out one hand to brush lightly over Dean's hair.

"You know I'm sorry, right? You know I wouldn't ever leave you, Dean, I was just mad, and I didn't know what to do, and things have been different lately, you know? Dean, if you can hear me, I need you to know I wouldn't leave you." For some reason, that was the thought that was prevalent in Sam's head, that his only brother _had_ to know that he hadn't been abandoned, that it was incomprehensible to think that Dean could die with Sam's last words being "Maybe it's time to split up," that Dean could just die, just like that, without saying goodbye. Dean's breath hitched a little, and Sam wanted to scream. _No no no! Not now! Not like this! Not now, when I've finally figured out where I want to be, where I need to be…Not now._

Sam prayed as he held the towel down, the towel now soaked red, the sticky substance starting to coat Sam's fingers as it had his brother's not so long before. Suddenly he could hear an ambulance, sirens roaring as it pulled into the parking lot, and Sam realized that he'd left the door open behind him only when he saw paramedics entering it.

They were quick and efficient, next to Dean's side in moments, quickly cutting his shirt off and applying more pressure, slipping an oxygen mask over his face and a backboard beneath his back. Sam vaguely told them what happened, who he was. Then he was on a stretcher, worried faces of people who only looked worried when it was bad staring at him. Sam walked behind them, long strides keeping him even with their frantic ones. He slammed the motel door behind him, climbed into the ambulance with his brother, knees awkwardly sticking out as he tried to stay out of the way. It took him a moment to register that a paramedic was talking to him.

"Sir? Sam? Your brother's injuries are too severe for the local urgent care, so we're going to Life Flight him to the hospital in Des Moines. They have an excellent trauma team there. Sir?" Sam looked up and nodded. That was good, right? The paramedic looked at him a second longer, concern evident on his face, then turned his full attention back to Dean. After that, things happened quickly. They pulled into the urgent care, the helicopter already waiting for them, and Sam followed numbly as his brother was loaded in, _he hates flying,_ and ducked in after him.

_Please, Dean. Not now. _


	4. Chapter 4

During the helicopter ride from hell, Sam Winchester noticed, hazily, that everything the paramedics said had an equal or opposite reaction, like a law of science. In a rather vain effort to keep his mind off of his brother dying in front of him, he blearily observed how it went. When one said, "He's not breathing," the other automatically shoved a tube down Dean's throat. Then, "His BP's dropping," and something was pushed into the IV on Dean's wrist. Sometimes the paramedics didn't even have to say anything. Like when a monitor started blaring, a high pitched whine that Sam had heard before and had tried ever thereafter to forget, a sound which started the paramedics moving, a bit more frantically than before. Saying things like, "v-fib" and "give him some epinephrine" and "damn it kid" and "clear." Sam suddenly snapped out of his reverie when he saw Dean's body raise slightly off the stretcher.

"No, Dean, no," he whispered, unable to say anything, horror creeping over him like a suffocating fog, fear lacing through him. "Please, Dean!" The monitor stopped its alarm, and Sam sagged against the wall, unable to prevent hot tears from rolling down his face. The paramedics were back to their normal pace, holding gauze down, rhythmically squeezing a bag over Dean's mouth and nose. Sam shut his eyes, opened them again, found the situation to be the same, and closed them even tighter. He didn't want to see the blood or the pallor of his skin or the heart monitor or any of it…

"Sir? Sir, we're here. You can get out of the helicopter, sir." Sam looked up and blinked at the medic peering worriedly at him. Dean was already gone, out of sight somewhere.

"Are you alright?" The medic asked, and Sam nodded.

"Fine," he said, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth and everything seemed unreal. He managed to find the waiting room, poured himself a cup of nasty smelling coffee and sat with it, never taking a drink, unaware of its dropping temperature. After a half hour of just waiting, he thought it might be appropriate to call Bobby. After all, he was in South Dakota and they were in Iowa; Bobby could come and be here if…Sam didn't allow himself to finish the thought.

"Singer," a gruff voice said finally, and Sam was startled. "That you Sam?"

"Yeah, hey Bobby," Sam said, and took a deep breath. Bobby must have noticed the hesitation.

"What's wrong? Is it Dean?"

"Yeah, Bobby, Dean got in a fight or something, he got stabbed, lost a lot of blood…" Sam's voice trailed off. Bobby was silent for a minute.

"How did he get in a fight _or something_? Were you there, Sam? Are _you_ okay? You sound off," he said finally.

"I wasn't there. I, uh, I messed up, almost went on a hunt with Ruby, but I came back. There was so much blood, Bobby, it was all over. They, uh, they lost him for a second on the helicopter. It's bad,' Sam finished, rubbing a tired hand over tired eyes. He heard Bobby's sharp intake of breath, heard the low swear word.

"I'll be there in an hour or two, okay Sam? You just hang on, he's gonna be okay. I'll be there soon." They hung up, and Sam realized for the first time how wiped he felt. He just wanted to sleep, to drift off and not have to worry, to wake up and have it be a nightmare, something he had dreamed up as he slept. But, then again, he didn't want to miss Dean's doctor. That wouldn't happen. Collecting himself, he realized that he hadn't filled out any paperwork, was thankful for the consideration of the ER staff in letting him calm down a bit, retrieved said paperwork and sat down, staring at it blankly for a minute. Finally, he carefully scrawled Dean's name, using Page as his last name, because Dean loved Jimmy Page and it seemed like the thing to do. It was all so automatic, filling the paperwork out, and Sam thought that it was high time it stopped happening. It wouldn't be happening if he'd just been around, been where he was supposed to be.

Another hour ticked by, and Sam hadn't heard anything yet. Well, that meant he was still alive, right? Sam knew that it also meant it was bad, but he was trying to be optimistic, trying to believe that, for once, maybe they'd get a little lucky. They deserved some by now.

"Sam," someone said, and he turned, relief flooding over him. Bobby was here.

"Hey," Sam answered, standing up and stretching as Bobby approached.

"Any news?" Sam shook his head. Bobby nodded and took a seat. Sam sat down across from him, finally realized that he was holding coffee, and quickly threw it away.

"So what happened?" Bobby asked, studying Sam carefully. Sam shrugged.

"I messed up. We fought, I went on a hunt with Ruby, but I realized that it was wrong. So I walked back, and there was a blood trail from the bar, apparently he got into a fight, and I followed it to our room and he was there, pale, blood everywhere…He looked dead, Bobby, looked like a freaking _corpse_. Holy crap." Sam looked at the floor, hands shaking slightly. Bobby looked at him, frowned, leaned back in his chair.

"You did good coming back, Sam," he said finally. "Yeah, you made a mistake, but we all make 'em sometimes. You came back, Sam. Without you, your brother really would be a corpse."

"He could still be, Bobby."

"Don't think like that." They lapsed into silence again, disturbed when a slightly twitchy looking man with oversized glasses and undersized eyes approached them.

"Family of Dean Page?" He asked, and Sam stood up and nodded. He could feel Bobby behind him, as tense and nervous as he was. The man adjusted his glasses.

"Dr. Gates," he said by way of introduction. "Dean was pretty lucky, considering. The knife nicked his stomach and ruptured his spleen; we had to perform an emergency splenectomy, but we were able to fix his stomach up without any complications. It got a little touch-and-go with the massive blood loss, but we've got him stabilized now, and he's in recovery. He still needs some help breathing, so he's on a ventilator, but we're optimistic that with the blood transfusions, we'll be able to get him off it soon." Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot for a second, nodded, then finally spoke.

"But he'll be okay?" The doctor fidgeted with his glasses again.

"Bottom line is he should be alright, but tonight will be a crucial time for him; as always, there's a risk for infection after the surgery, but we'll be giving him antibiotics to try to prevent that." Sam nodded.

"When can we see him?"

"As soon as he's settled in recovery."

Fifteen minutes later, Bobby was fairly trotting behind Sam in an effort to keep up with the taller man's pace. He finally slowed as they neared Dean's room, then stopped at the door, hands hanging limply at his sides. Bobby came up behind him and looked in. Dean was hooked up to the vent, IV ports by his head and running lines into his arms, his eye black and blue as the bartender had predicted. Sam hadn't even noticed it before. A heart monitor beeped quietly, both comforting and disturbing. Sam collapsed into the chair next to Dean's bed and reached awkwardly for his pale hand; he couldn't help but smile as he imagined Dean's face if he was conscious for the chick-flick moment. Suddenly exhausted, he felt himself growing drowsy as he looked at his brother.

"Hey Dean, it's Sam…Just letting you know I'm still here, and I'll be here when you wake up, okay? I'll be here when you wake up," he whispered.

And he was.

A/N: So, should I continue? I planned on it, but then I thought that this was kind of an ending…Anyways, what do you think? Thanks for the reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

A day after Dean came off the ventilator-painful gagging and panic, another memory Sam had sincerely hoped to forget- he woke up. It was a slow wakening, Dean blinking in obvious confusion for a few moments, eyes darting about the room. His eyes first widened, then narrowed when he saw Sam.

"Sam?" He whispered, so quietly Sam nearly missed it. It hurt to see the look of utter shock on Dean's face, even more when he appeared to be suspicious.

"Yeah, I' m here, Dean," Sam answered. Dean shook his head and winced at the movement.

"Whoa," he muttered, clearly dizzy as he struggled to regain some composure. He blinked up at Sam a second later. He mumbled something incoherent, but Sam knew what he was asking.

"I'm here, Dean. I left Ruby and came back, okay? And I'm not going back. I've been doing some thinking..." He trailed off, slightly frustrated, as Dean's eyelids slipped closed and fell into sleep once more, wanting to get the conversation he was dreading out of the way.

The next day, Dean woke up again, this time much more aware of his surroundings. When he saw Sam, he smiled a bit, looked at him with the old smirk he'd used so many times. Sam felt extremely guilty at this quick forgiveness and it must have shown on his face as Dean's smile fell. Holy crap, he still looked weak and vulnerable.

"Listen, Dean-" he started, but his older brother waved him off with a weak brush of his hand.

"No Sam, s'okay," he mumbled. Sam shook his head.

"No it isn't," he argued, but Dean waved him off again.

"Sam, I should be the one saying sorry." Sam blinked, stunned.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He demanded, suddenly somewhat angry with his stubborn, proud-ass brother.

"I never really thought about you," Dean said, as if that explained everything. Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean kept talking in that weak, somewhat breathy voice Sam wasn't used to hearing. "I never thought about what it would be like for you, to finally get used to having me dead and get your own life, and then bam! I'm back, surprise, hope you're happy even though you probably just wish I wasn't around to drag you down all the time. I never thought about how you wouldn't know how to react to me just popping out of the ground, suddenly alive and well and as annoying as ever. And I understand how much you need to be on your own, have your own space and be able to do what you want, so...If you want to split up, I understand. Okay?"

Sam had to put forth a monumental effort to keep himself from crying, and could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Of course Dean would blame himself, would try to keep the guilt off of Sam, but thinking that Sam hated having him back...When had he let his own brother think that? What the hell kind of brother did that? He could see the pain in Dean's eyes as he told Sam that he wouldn't mind splitting up, liar, he knew how much the splintered remains of his family meant to Dean. Sam took a deep breath, still felt the wetness pressing at his eyes.

"No Dean. No. First of all, I never, ever, got used to you being gone. I woke up in the morning expecting you to be in the bed next to me, snoring all loud and tangled up in your sheets 'cause you are physically incapable of sleeping still. I expected to find a pot of crappy coffee on already when I woke up because you're always up first. I expected to get annoyed with all the bad, old music you love so damn much, but it was freaking quiet in the car. Dean, I never got used to you being gone, and that...that made it harder to get used to having you back, Dean.

"I was so scared that if I let things go back to the way they had been, I'd lose you again, so I kept myself from getting too close to you, from letting you mean too much to me, from being that person I can't function right without. And I thought that if I took care of Lilith, I wouldn't have to worry about that, but Ruby was the only person-thing- that could help. But I don't care about that anymore Dean, okay? I finally figured out where I should be. I need to be here, with you, because if I'm not, things aren't right, and they aren't okay. So don't ever, _ever_ think that I don't need you, or that I think you're dragging me down, right? It's not true. You're my big brother, Dean. I'll always need you."

Sam was surprised to find that the tears he'd been containing had rolled down his cheeks, even more surprised to see that Dean, _Dean_ had a tear rolling down his cheek. Sam attributed the show of emotion to the pain meds and blood loss, but it still hit him hard. Dean needed him too.

"Damn, Sammy," he muttered, finally. "That was beautiful. You should write cards for Hallmark or something." Sam snorted despite his best efforts, and Dean laughed weakly.

"M' really tired," he said finally, eyes starting to drift shut of their own accord. Sam smiled.

"Sleep then. I'll be here."

And he was.

A/N So I think that's it! First Supernatural fic ever! I'm thinking about maybe writing a sequel. We'll see how it goes.


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